


Hello Thirteen

by Honey_Dewey



Series: My Doctor Who stories (mostly 13) [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Depression, its sad, mentions of various movies, reader has a breakdown
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:00:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23720074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honey_Dewey/pseuds/Honey_Dewey
Summary: You (the reader) were having a good day until you just broke. What happens when the Doctor finds you crying and watching a movie? Let’s find out.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Reader
Series: My Doctor Who stories (mostly 13) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1733278
Comments: 2
Kudos: 48





	Hello Thirteen

**Author's Note:**

> Yes I am ashamed of this. 
> 
> Yes you are going to have it anyway. 
> 
> I am complete trash for 13 and I’ve been a depressed mess for days now. So this is the result. It’s short, but sweet, I promise. And who knows. Maybe I’ll keep posting my 13 fics. It depends.
> 
> Brownie points to anyone who can name all the movies/tv shows referenced in this story!

It was evening in Sheffield, the sun setting low across the skyline. The fam was home, minus you, of course. The TARDIS was parked, stationary outside a kids playground. The fam would come back tomorrow morning, but for now, they were asleep in their homes. All except you and the Doctor. 

You two sat in vague silence, the Doctor tinkering, and you just sitting there. You had had a good day, so it only made sense that you were currently fighting off tears and a depressive episode. 

“Hey Doc,” you said, watching the Doctor fumble around with her toolbox. “Got a TV ‘round here?” 

“Yeah,” the Doctor poked her head up and gestured up the steps. “Try that-a-way.” 

You stood, feeling an odd fuzziness to your limbs as you explored the TARDIS halls in search of a place to watch a movie or two. Only rom-coms and ice cream could help you with what was to come. 

Eventually, you found a small corner with a soft couch and decent TV. There was already a pint of ice cream on the couch, and you had to thank whoever had decided the TARDIS should be telepathic. 

“What to watch,” you grumbled, settling down on the couch. “Is this telepathic too?” 

The answer was yes. The TARDIS flicked through a few channels, passing by a detective show you vaguely recognized, a medical drama with a blonde woman who looked surprisingly like the Doctor, a filmed theater production of what looked like Antigone set in an underground bunker, and a very weird and mildly concerning show you’d heard of before but never watched, before deciding on what was apparently a comedy. 

“Thanks,” you said, picking up the ice cream and beginning to watch the movie. 

You were a good halfway through before the Doctor found you, silently sobbing your eyes out on her second favorite couch. 

“What’s wrong?” She asked, ever the worrier. “Did she pick a bad movie?” 

She glanced at the screen. Nothing scary or sad. Just a brunette woman following a man up a set of steps. 

“No,” you hiccuped. “Just depressed. I get like this sometimes. Sad. Movies usually help, but,” you wiped your running nose on the already dirty sleeve of your shirt. Considering how wet it already was, the Doctor guessed you’d been crying for a while now. “I just couldn’t help it.” 

The movie paused as the Doctor sat beside you, tugging you into her arms. “I get it,” she murmured. “Just let go darling. I’m here.” 

You cried for a good twenty minutes before pulling away, wiping your eyes on your shirt one last time. “Sorry,” you said, gesturing to the damp mess on the Doctor’s shoulder. 

“No biggie,” she promised. “I can give it a wash later. Along with yours,” she added as she pulled the striped shirt and white undershirt off. She was left in a black tank top, curiously looking over at you. “C’mon. That can’t be comfy.” 

You hesitantly took your own shirt off, leaving you in a grey sports bra. It was a bit cold, so you tugged a yellow blanket tight across your shoulders as the Doctor turned back to the TV. 

“Right. What are we watching?” 

You shrugged, cuddling up to her side. She moved her arm to accept your body against hers. “It’s a pretty decent movie. That guy is homeless, jobless, and just got mistaken as someone’s babysitter because he was trying to drop off a letter, but he wasn’t. And he got locked out of the building with the baby and now the police are looking for him. That chick that got dragged along with him was at his latest job interview, and they’re with guy who wrote the letter, who happens to be the baby’s dad. They’re making a getaway from the cops. Get it?” 

The Doctor nodded. “I think I’ve seen this one before,” she said softly. “It’s got a fun ending.” 

The next morning, when Yaz walked through the TARDIS halls looking for you, she found something so much better. 

The TV was set to a low volume, playing a nature documentary. But the best part was the fact that you and the Doctor were asleep together. She was laying on her back and you were mostly on top of her, her arms around your body, your head nestled against her shoulder, the two of you sharing a blanket. 

Yaz smiled, taking a photo and texting it to Ryan and Graham. 

_** Yaz:  one image sent ** you both owe me lunch.  _

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading my garbage!


End file.
